


Fatal Flaw

by spacecapes



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Batjokes, Blindfolds, Bottom Joker (DCU), Bruce Takes Off the Cowl, But Joker Is Blindfolded, Did I mention feelings?, Feelings, M/M, Or Maybe Feelings with Porn, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Smut, Teeny Tiny Bit of Bloodplay If You Squint, Top Bruce Wayne, Unprotected Sex, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28777794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacecapes/pseuds/spacecapes
Summary: “Batsy…” Joker murmured dazedly, cold fingers trailing across the exposed skin of Bruce’s forehead, softly brushing his eyelashes before stilling on his temples.“No,” Bruce whispered back, “Not tonight.”
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 18
Kudos: 177





	Fatal Flaw

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as pure smut, but then a lot feelings happened because deep down I JUST WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY, so I’m going to class this is as ‘feelings with porn’ rather than ‘porn with feelings’ but check the tags for details and warnings!
> 
> It’s not meant to be set in any particular ‘verse, but if I had to choose one, I’d probably say it was a few years down the line from The Killing Joke? I was definitely imagining Mark Hamill’s voice for the Joker, if that helps.
> 
> The title was inspired by Taylor Swift’s song ‘ivy’ – yes, you read that right I got inspired to write Batjokes smut while listening to Taylor Swift, sue me. I don’t know if it’s just because I’ve got Batjokes on the brain 24/7, but there are a couple of lines in the song that just remind me of their relationship.
> 
> Enjoy!

_I wish to know  
The fatal flaw that makes you long to be  
Magnificently cursed_

–

It was just after midnight when Bruce climbed through the broken window of the abandoned warehouse in the heart of the Narrows. The high-ceilinged hall he found himself in was dark, but the moonlight that filtered through the dirty windows lit it up just enough for him to be able to make out the outline of the tall figure leaning against the brick wall opposite him.

“Back so soon, Batsy? Missing my pretty face already, no doubt…” Joker pushed himself off the wall and stepped out of the shadows.

“You called.”

“And you always come when I call, don’t you? Like the good little bat you are,” Joker mocked, bright red lips stretched into a knowing smile that sent shivers down Bruce’s spine.

Loathe as he was to admit it, it was the truth. Whether Joker’s call came in the shape of a threat to blow up their city or, as was so often the case of late, an elegantly scribbled address on a playing card hidden atop Gotham’s roofs, Bruce always came. He wasn’t sure when the latter had started happening so much more often than the former, nor could he pinpoint the exact moment he’d started craving these clandestine meetings – the ones that had nothing to do with saving Gotham and everything to do with satisfying a need he had been denying himself for decades.

The first time it happened, Bruce had found Joker’s card on the roof of The Gotham Globe, lodged between two bricks in the building’s disused chimney – ‘Come meet me’, an address and no signature, but it wasn’t like one was needed. Back then, Bruce hadn’t known what was going to happen, couldn’t have known, or so he liked to tell himself. Because if he’d truly had no idea, then why hadn’t he alerted Oracle, or at the very least Alfred, before running headfirst into what he should have expected to be danger of the lethal kind?

Maybe because Bruce had felt, even then, that this was different. Maybe he’d known before sneaking into the decrepit building that night, before Joker had beckoned him over with one, crooked finger, before their mouths had crashed into each other with enough force to break teeth; maybe he’d just known.

Their late-night ‘rendezvous’, as Joker liked to call them, were always raw, confrontations more so than mere meetings, each taking what he wanted and never giving an inch. More often than not, pain outweighed the pleasure Bruce was so reluctant to admit he felt in the first place, and he found himself caught somewhere between ecstasy and self-loathing every single time. 

Joker felt so good against his body, scratching his back and biting his neck and writhing against him as he greedily took everything Bruce threw at him. And Bruce never held back, never had to; he knew he wouldn’t break Joker, although the thought of trying thrilled him. Joker, of course, gave as good as he got, and, for the longest time, Bruce wondered if this – whatever ‘this’ was – was really all that different from any of their public head-to-heads over the years.

He knew his family wouldn’t agree with that assessment, and he shuddered to think of what they would say if they ever found out what he and the clown had been getting up to in the dark for longer than either of them cared to acknowledge. But at least to himself, he could admit that fucking Joker felt like fighting him, exhilarating but full of hatred for one another; _need_ rather than _want_. 

Or at least it had, until… until one day it hadn’t. Not only were their meetings becoming more and more frequent, more desperate, but Joker had taken to whispering words of love, not abuse, when Bruce took what the clown had always told him was rightfully his. And he wished he could deny the way his chest constricted at the sound of Batman’s name falling from the other man’s lips when he came, or at the brush of his chapped lips against the corner of Bruce’s mouth afterwards – ‘See you soon, darling.’

It was no less rough, no less violent, he still left bruises on Joker’s body that would grace his skin for weeks, and still, still, something had changed, something had shifted between them, and it scared Bruce to death. Fear, he told himself, was the only logical explanation for why he’d been so anxiously awaiting Joker’s call, for why a plan had formed in his head so reckless and stupid and dangerous that he knew he should turn around and leave while he still could. 

But he needed to know what it would be like, needed to know if a violent storm was all that they could ever be, even if he was afraid of learning the truth.

So when Joker leaned in to kiss him, Bruce, with no small amount of difficulty, turned his head away.

“No.”

“No?”

Joker looked confused, not even angry, just taken aback. Just like Bruce always came when Joker called, he hadn’t refused him once, not the first time and certainly not since. Hands shaking ever so slightly, Bruce reached into his utility belt and pulled out a thin strip of black, silk cloth, and presented it to Joker in his open palm.

“And what might this be?” Joker snatched the cloth out of Bruce’s outstretched hand and held it up in front of his face with his thumb and his index finger, inspecting it briefly before starting to giggle, “A blindfold?”

“Would you wear it for me tonight?”

“Ohhh kinky – why, I’m delighted, didn’t know you had it in you, Bats!” Joker hummed appreciatively, shooting Bruce one of the sardonic smiles he was so well-known for, but made no move to put the blindfold on.

“Put it on,” Bruce commanded, biting his tongue to stop himself from adding a plea to his words. Joker never took kindly to desperation, not unless he was the one to provoke it.

“And why in the world, dear, would I do that?”

“Because I won’t hold back if you do,” Bruce promised, feeling a small amount of guilt at so deliberately misleading the other man. Given their previous encounters, Joker could only infer that Bruce was going to treat him with that extra little bit of bit of violence he so tirelessly tried to coax out of him. Ironically, violence couldn’t be further from Bruce’s true intentions for the night.

“Hmmm…” Joker made a show of putting his finger to his lips as he pretended to contemplate Bruce’s proposal, “Well, since you asked so nicely, how could I refuse?”

He clapped his hands and rubbed them together gleefully, licking his lips as his eyes turned dark and he leaned in to whisper in Bruce’s ear, “Do your worst.”

Knowing there was no going back now, Bruce carefully wrapped the blindfold around Joker’s head, making sure that his eyes were fully covered before tying it into a neat but secure little bow at the back.

“What now? Is the big bad Bat going to have his way with poor little defenceless me?” Joker cackled, wriggling his hips suggestively, and Bruce almost snorted at the insinuation that Joker was any less dangerous blindfolded. He knew better than to underestimate him, with or without full possession of his senses.

“Take your clothes off,” Bruce ordered, ignoring Joker’s taunt, and started undoing his suit. He never let Joker remove it. In fact, the first few times, Bruce himself hadn’t taken any of it off, except the bits that were absolutely necessary, not until he’d been sure, or as sure as one could be when it came to the clown, that Joker wouldn’t pull a knife on him. The cowl, of course, had always stayed on. 

Until now, that was.

“Bossy,” Joker giggled but obediently removed his suit jacket, his waistcoat, then his shirt, and finally his trousers. Bruce wasn’t the least bit surprised that he wasn’t wearing any underwear.

As always, Joker had taken off his clothes entirely without pretense. Bruce still remembered his bewilderment at the uncharacteristic lack of showmanship the first time Joker had gotten undressed in front of him – the clown wasn’t the least bit self-conscious, that much wasn’t unexpected, but he also didn’t prance, didn’t parade his body around, didn’t put on a show like he seemed to do in any other moment of his life if given the chance. 

When the two of them had first been naked together, after weeks of dry humping and hurried handjobs during which neither of them had taken the time to remove any of their clothing, Bruce had been struck by how natural it felt to have Joker’s cold body pressed flush against his own, like they had been doing this forever, like they already knew each other’s bodies inside and out. And in a way, Bruce supposed they did; after all, half of the scars littering his body had been put there by Joker, and the pale pink of the many marks adorning the other man’s even paler skin only told another version of the same story.

Except tonight it would all be so different, and Bruce couldn’t be sure if the shivers that racked his body were because of the cold or because of what he was about to do. He took a moment to rake his eyes over Joker’s lithe form, drinking in the luminescence of his moonlit skin, the lean muscle and protruding ribs that spoke of years of malnutrition and too many frenzied chases through the city’s darkest alleys. 

“You know, it’s rude to make a girl wait,” Joker snarled, and the warning tone of his voice forced Bruce out of his reverie, his breathing growing heavier in anticipation of what was to come.

Sparing one last glance for the clown’s provocative smile below the blindfold, Bruce removed the cowl.

He had barely taken a step towards Joker when the clown grabbed his hips and forcefully slammed them against his own, starting this encounter of theirs like they had any other – violently. Desperate to assert control over the delicate situation he had, unbeknownst to Joker, put them in, Bruce wrapped his fingers around the other man’s bony wrists, firmly holding them in place.

“What’s wrong, Batsy, cat got your tongue? Don’t worry, I’ll make you forget all about her in no time,” Joker hissed lowly. 

Bruce could just picture the spiteful wink underneath the blindfold, but as much as he hated hearing the clown mention Selina, even in passing, he had long since given up trying to convince himself that his brief dalliances with her would ever hold a candle to what he shared with Joker. 

Loosening his grip on Joker’s wrists, he raised them up to either side of his face, trembling with an onslaught of emotions he didn’t dare name as he pressed both of Joker’s hands to his cheeks. Joker’s fingers spread out instinctually, and his breath hitched when he realised what Bruce had done, all traces of malice and mockery vanished and gone.

“Batsy…” Joker murmured dazedly, cold fingers trailing across the exposed skin of Bruce’s forehead, softly brushing his eyelashes before stilling on his temples.

“No,” Bruce whispered back, “Not tonight.”

For a moment, the two of them just stood there, not Batman and the Joker, just Bruce and Joker. 

Bruce could hear the blood rushing in his ears. In the past, Joker had made it painfully clear that he had no interest in who Batman was beneath his suit, so what was to stop him now from getting furious with Bruce for ruining the illusion they had both worked so hard to maintain? And what right did Bruce have to expect anything other than rage when he was the one who had decided to change what they had, what they were, without asking permission first?

Not knowing where to go from here, he continued standing still, frozen in place, with his heart hammering in his chest. Minutes passed, their faces so close that he could feel the other man’s breath ghost over his mouth before finally finally _finally_ Joker moved in and kissed him, cradling Bruce’s face in his hands, softly pressing his lips against Bruce’s, tender in a way Bruce never thought he would but had always known he could be.

Over the years, Bruce had caught glimpses of this side of Joker, long before they had crossed the line into what could no longer be classed as enmity, brief but undeniably there, but he had never been sure what to make of them. Now all he could do, all his body and his brain would let him do, was to kiss Joker back just as fervently, arms circling the other man’s too thin waist as he pressed them closer together.

When Joker teasingly ran his tongue over Bruce’s lower lip, asking for admittance in a way he never before had, Bruce let out a low groan and pulled the other man impossibly closer. Joker made a quiet, desperate little sound, and it hit Bruce with a force that knocked the wind out of him just how much trust he was putting in the man in his arms, his sworn enemy, Gotham’s _Clown Prince of Crime_.

Bruce hadn’t tied Joker up – he could have, but he had chosen not to – and there was nothing to stop the other man from slipping one of his slender fingers under the thin strip of cloth and learning the one piece of information that could ruin Bruce’s life and the lives of his loved ones in an instant. Bruce felt a rush of panic go through him that was soon replaced with reckless exaltation, and he wondered whether there wasn’t some small part of him that wanted Joker to break their unspoken rule, _wanted_ acid-green eyes to meet ocean blues.

For better or worse, Joker did no such thing, only his kisses grew more desperate as he dug his sharp fingernails into Bruce’s scalp. It wasn’t soft anymore, but it was sensual, and when Bruce pulled away to bite Joker’s neck, he noted that for the first time since this had started, he meant to hurt but not to harm.

Bruce could feel Joker growing hard against his thigh, and he let out a shuddering breath as he realised that he was finally given the answer to a question he had been afraid to ask for so long. He couldn’t deny the waves of relief and elation and nausea and trepidation that washed over him at the thought of Joker growing hard for him, not for Batman but for Bruce, for the man behind the mask. Bruce couldn’t see Joker’s eyes, wasn’t sure if he would have dared to look if he could, but he knew that he, too, understood that this meant that whatever this insane thing was between them, it had, at some point, transcended their personas.

“Turn around for me,” Bruce demanded, but his voice was soft, a lot softer than Batman’s, and he knew Joker noticed it too when his grip on Bruce’s face tightened and he leaned in to kiss him hard, reluctant to let go.

“Please, Joker, I need –” Bruce gasped, not entirely sure what it was that he needed, but Joker seemed to sense his urgency and nodded sharply, lips still pressed against Bruce’s.

“Anything for you, darling, anything,” he breathed huskily, and turned around in Bruce’s arms.

Head swimming with panic and pleasure, Bruce walked them over to the nearest wall and pressed Joker against the cold bricks, nuzzling the back of his neck and eagerly running his hands all over the other man’s body.

“You drive me so fucking crazy,” he murmured against Joker’s neck. At that, Joker let out a hoarse laugh, and moved his hips to rub against Bruce’s leaking cock.

“I share the sentiment, but I think we both know I’m crazy whether you’re with me or not,” he quipped, and Bruce huffed a laugh despite himself, “Now stop pussyfooting around, or I’ll have to take matters into my own hand.”

Bruce didn’t have to be told twice. He wrapped his right hand around the Joker’s long, slender cock, stroking slowly but firmly, the way he knew the other man loved and hated in equal measure; with his other arm, he reached around Joker’s chest and slid two fingers into his mouth. Realising what Bruce was asking him to do, Joker moaned around his fingers and ran his talented tongue over them, coating them in saliva as well as he could before biting down hard, an unmistakable cue for Bruce to hurry up and move them elsewhere.

Bruce trailed his fingers along Joker’s spine all the way down between his cheeks, circling the other man’s hole and delighting in the way he squirmed in his grip. Pressing a soft kiss to Joker’s shoulder, he slipped one finger inside, knowing full well that Joker’s saliva was nowhere near enough lubrication to stop the burn the intrusion would inevitably bring with it, but, as always, the other man appeared to relish the pain.

“Still so tight for me…” Bruce murmured absent-mindedly, stroking Joker’s cock while moving his finger in and out of him at what he knew to be an agonisingly slow pace.

“That’s because I don’t let anyone else do this to me,” Joker choked out in between moans, “Only you, it’s always been only you.”

This wasn’t the first time Joker had told Bruce in no uncertain terms that he didn’t let anyone else touch him like this, but it was the first time he allowed himself to accept, without guilt or regret or shame, how much the idea of Joker being his and his alone aroused him. Growling possessively, he bit the other man’s shoulder hard, teeth sinking in deep enough to break skin.

Bruce lapped up the blood with his tongue and added a second finger, scissoring them brusquely, too quick for comfort, but Joker didn’t seem to mind as he rocked his hips back and fucked himself open on Bruce’s fingers. It didn’t take long for Bruce to hit Joker’s prostate, and he had to wrap his other arm around the clown’s waist to steady him as his knees buckled. 

“Come _on_ , just fu– ” Joker grunted impatiently, voice breaking into a long moan when Bruce again sank his teeth into the open wound on his shoulder.

Unwilling to wait any longer himself, Bruce pulled his fingers out and watched, entranced, as Joker leaned both of his arms against the wall and bent his back, spreading his legs invitingly, head hanging low between his shoulders. It was a sight to behold, with the other man so open and vulnerable for him, and one Bruce didn’t think he would ever grow tired of, but tonight, it wasn’t what he wanted.

“Not like this – I want to see you,” he blurted out before he could think better of it, taking hold of Joker’s hips to turn him around and push him against the wall. Capturing the clown’s mouth in another desperate kiss, he grabbed his thighs and hoisted him up against the wall, the rough surface of the bricks no doubt tearing open the skin on Joker’s already bruised back. Judging from the way he threw his head back and let out a low, guttural moan, he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

Joker dug his hands into Bruce’s shoulders and wrapped his slender legs around Bruce’s waist, his lips and tongue already back to exploring Bruce’s face, like he needed to savour every part of it. Bruce’s eyes fluttered closed as Joker kissed his eyelids, the soft touch a stark contrast to the force with which his hands clawed at Bruce’s shoulders, and Bruce couldn’t help but feel that this, right here, was the embodiment of the constant conflict between devotion and depravity that defined the Joker.

Wrapping one hand around Joker’s waist to hold him up, Bruce spit in the other to lube himself up as much as he could before positioning his cock at the other man’s opening. Joker’s kisses halted, just for a second, then he whispered into Bruce’s ear, “Do it, darling.”

It was all the encouragement Bruce needed before he pushed in slowly, burying his face in the other man’s chest and groaning against his collar bone as Joker’s wet, hot heat engulfed him. When he lifted his head to look up at Joker, red lipstick smeared across his mouth and chin, the blindfold that was still covering his eyes an undeniable reminder of the trust they had demonstrated towards each other, it took all of his willpower not to come right then and there.

Joker was writhing in his grip, impatient as ever, so Bruce began to move, pushing into Joker hard and fast, the sound of skin slapping against skin resounding in the quiet, empty hall. When he readjusted their positions and hit Joker’s prostate again, the other man cried out, a litany of curses and demands and endearments tumbling from his mouth, “fuck” and “more” and “harder” and “just like that, love”, and it was all too much yet not enough; never enough between the two of them.

He continued to pepper kisses along Joker’s exposed neck, licking, biting, committing every sound the other man made to memory. Joker’s hands were still clutching onto his shoulders, no doubt leaving bruises that would serve as a reminder to Bruce that this really happened, that perhaps some part of Joker wanted Bruce as much as he wanted Batman, that there could be more to their future than mutually assured destruction.

“I’m close,” Bruce got out between gritted teeth, “Touch yourself,” he grunted, and Joker didn’t waste any time in releasing his death grip on Bruce’s shoulders to stroke himself in time with Bruce’s thrusts. It wasn’t long until Bruce could feel the heat pooling in his stomach, his moves growing more and more erratic with every one of Joker’s gasps.

“Wish I could see your eyes,” Joker leaned forward to touch their foreheads together, and it was the mental image of Joker’s eyes reflecting his own back at him that pushed Bruce over the edge, hips stuttering as he muffled his groans on the other man’s bruised shoulder. Joker followed not long after, his release spurting hot between their bodies, a final “darling” falling from his lips. 

It wasn’t lost on Bruce that Joker had abandoned all of the Batman-related names he was usually so fond of calling him as soon as he had realised that Bruce had taken off the cowl, and he was oddly touched by the gesture. Still, the treacherous part of his brain, the same one that had him coming back to Joker again and again, no matter how many times he told himself he shouldn’t, couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to one day hear him say Bruce’s name when he came.

Neither of them dared to move for a while, too busy catching their breaths and trying to wrap their heads around what had just happened, until, eventually, the faint ache in Bruce’s arms made him lower Joker’s shaky legs down onto the ground. He grabbed Joker’s shirt from the floor and cleaned them both as well as he could, before handing the clown the rest of his clothes and moving to pick up his own suit from where he had discarded it earlier.

They got dressed wordlessly, Joker’s movements a little clumsy as he was still dutifully wearing the blindfold. Once he had put on his trousers and his suit jacket, he leaned against the wall, hands behind his back, and waited for Bruce to get back into his suit, uncharacteristically quiet the whole time.

When Bruce was done, he hesitated briefly before putting the cowl back on. He felt strangely hollow at the thought of going back to how things were before, how things had always been between them, and he could see Joker’s shoulders slump a little when the sound of the cowl reattaching reverberated in the otherwise silent hall. Not knowing what to say, if there was anything he _could_ say, he took a step towards Joker and started to remove the blindfold, but the other man’s hands shot up to catch his wrists, tugging hard as he whispered, “Don’t.”

Bruce nodded, although he knew the other man couldn’t see, and he thought he understood. When he kissed Joker goodbye, he made sure to keep the cowl from touching the other man’s face so as not to break the fragile spell between them just yet. Their lips barely brushed, and Bruce jumped out the window and back into the cold night before he could utter a promise they both knew he could never keep.

–

_So yeah, it's a fire  
It's a goddamn blaze in the dark  
And you started it  
You started it  
So yeah, it's a war  
It's the goddamn fight of my life  
And you started it  
You started it_

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have a thing for Bruce revealing his identity to Joker (and I'm fairly certain I'm not the only one). Don’t ask me why, but it’s always one of my favourite moments in any story in which that happens, so the idea of him feeling the need to show Joker the man behind the mask, however gradually, had been floating around in my head for a while. Probably not the most original take on it, but I just had to put it on paper.
> 
> I hope you liked this <3


End file.
